Call
Another day off school! Hot damn, two in a row. Even though all the havoc and pandemonium was kind of scary, Jimmy was still stoked: sixth grade fucking sucked. It was really unbelievable, the commotion going on in his little town. Most people had never even heard of the sleepy little fishing village Shelter Cove. Now there were news trucks, helicopters buzzing overhead, reporters everywhere. Geologists, oceanographers, and all kinds of scientists trying to figure out what was causing the sea to bubble up and boil, whether the crazy lighting storms had anything to do with it. The National Guard was building sandbag bunkers and damns, cordoning off evacuation routes. And he had to admit it was exciting and fun, even though his mother wouldn’t let him out of the house no matter how much he begged. “But, Mom, I promise I won’t go to the beach. Just to the cliffs where I can see the ocean.” His mother shuffled over to him, her pretty face gaunt with worry, draped in one of his dad’s 49ers shirts, and set a plate of French toast covered in sliced strawberries and raisins—his favorite!—down in front of him. He could smell the scent of his father on the tattered old shirt: Old Spice, cigarettes, and bubble gum. “Absolutely not,” his mother said. “No one knows what’s going on out there. It could be a volcano. We’re safe here, above the tsunami line.” “''Come on'', Bobby and Jeff’s parents let them ride their bikes down to the cliffs to watch.” “Jimmy, no. Your father and I discussed it and you are not to go anywhere near the ocean. Period.” “Yeah, Jimmy,” his little sister, Layla, said, her mouth of smear of yogurt (all she ever ate was yogurt—gross!) “You’re too little to go without Daddy.” She smirked, and a strand of hair fell loose from one of her pigtails and slid across her round, little face. Jimmy squinted at her. “Shut your gross trap, Layla.” “Jimmy, be nice to your sister.” “She started it!” His mother lit a cigarette, tapped her foot, and blew out a jet of smoke. “And where’s your father? He picked a fine time to go up the hill and water his plants.” His mother’s iPad was propped up on the table, streaming CNN, and Anderson Cooper was on the screen, actually talking about their little town. There was a helicopter shot of the ocean where it swirled yellow and purple, and then Jimmy felt something tingle inside him. His hairs went erect and he somehow knew what was about to happen. “Lightning!” he shouted, and—''wham''—a flash of white light filled the windows followed by a crash of thunder. They sat silent for a moment, as the reverberation faded. Then Layla asked, “How do you know when that’s going to happen?” “Just do,” Jimmy said. Their mother crushed out her cigarette. “It’s the call. He’s got the call.” Jimmy had been born with a thin layer of flesh over his face—a caul—but his mother always called it “the call” and said it was a sign he had special powers. “And when you were in my belly, Jimmy, a fortune teller told me you was bound to be a great leader.” “Yeah, yeah, Mom. I’ve heard the story a million times.” “Well, you’re special. Always known it.” Layla pouted and slammed her spoon down. “Aren’t I special?” Their mother came up behind her, ruffled her hair and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “Of course you are, poopsy-kins.” Then winked at Jimmy, before her cell phone on the counter stated dinging and vibrating. She snatched it up and glanced at it, saying, “It’s your father, thank God,” before swiping the screen. “Hey, hon, where are you?” She cocked her head, made a funny face and said, “Of course I’m watching the news. The whole world’s watching the news. Don’t look at it? What do you mean don’t look at it?” Jimmy watched his mother glance at the iPad, her face suddenly going slate-gray, her mouth dropping open, the phone falling from her hand and clattering to the ground. He turned to the screen and saw a flicker of something incredibly strange—tentacles and teeth erupting from the ocean—before the shot went back to Anderson Cooper who began to stutter incoherently and then reached into his mouth, gripping his tongue with his fingers, and, after pulling it out to an impossible length, bit into it. Blood and spit poured down his chin as he savagely shook his head, ripping his tongue free. Then there was a wild jumble of bodies streaking across the screen as the newscasters began to attack each other. Jimmy turned back to his mother, who staggered backward till she hit the counter, her eyes blank and giant, her mouth opening and closing. “Mom? What’s going on? Are you okay?” His mother screamed, grabbed a steak knife off the counter, lifted her head, and plunged it into her throat, working it in to the hilt as a fountain of blood exploded from the wound. Jimmy stood, and was consumed with shock. This can’t be happening. For a moment he couldn’t move, paralyzed and seized with terror. Then his sister suddenly sprung from her seat, leaping across the table, and latched onto him, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. He grabbed her by a pigtail with both hands, howling in pain, and pulled her off of him. She hit the floor with a thump, and immediately bounced back at him, wrapping her tiny hands around his neck and knocking him off his feet and onto his back. His head thudded on the ground and white triangles danced through the air. Layla was perched on his chest, her eyes red-rimmed and yellow, green slime spilling from her open mouth as she tightened her grip on Jimmy’s neck. He couldn’t get any air. Was suffocating. He reached out blindly and grasped something— the rock that they used to hold the door open on hot summer days—and slammed it against the side of her head, feeling something crack and give. Her eyes rolled upwards and she toppled off him, slumping onto the floor. He pulled himself up, gagging and gasping, and looked at his little sister. A trickle of blood was forming beneath one of her pigtails, but she was breathing. “Layla?” he asked. Her eyes shot open and she bared her teeth as she scrabbled across the floor at him on all fours, one pigtail bobbing in the air, the other blood drenched and hanging across her face. He bolted for the sliding glass doors and managed to pull them open just as she grabbed hold of his leg and bit into his calf, madly shaking her head like a shark in a feeding frenzy. He gritted his teeth, hanging onto the handle, and swung himself around, kicking her forward, out the door and onto the porch. As he slammed the door shut, she reached in for him, and her fingers caught between the door and the frame. He took a breath and heaved on the handle, desperately trying to shut the door. He heard a creak as the thin bones of her fingers cracked. He pushed once more, with everything he had, watching in horror as her fingers severed and fell to the ground. He slipped the lock closed and gazed out at her, standing on the porch. It was his sister, but it wasn’t his sister. She had changed. She was smiling, staring back at him, and didn’t even seem to notice that her left hand was missing four of its fingers and gushing blood. Her yellow sundress was ripped and streaked in gore. She cocked her head, took a step backwards, then threw herself against the glass. The thud shook the house. Still smiling, she did it again—her bloody pig tail coming loose and spreading across the side of her face like a spider—and again, never losing the strange, cherubic grin, even as a wound opened on her forehead and left streaks of crimson on the glass. Jimmy ran to his bedroom, his safe spot, and hid in the corner of the closet, nestled amongst his Star Wars action figures. He could hear her out there, slamming against the door, the sound reverberating through the house, all the way into the closet. And then there was a weird wet sound, like a dropped melon cracking on a sidewalk, and nothing. The wounds in his shoulder and leg ached; he could feel blood oozing down his back. Wrapping his arms around his legs, he began to rock himself, wondering, what was going on? Then he heard the first explosion. It shook the house, swaying it on its foundation, and was quickly followed by another. There were screams and howling and he could smell smoke. The roar of what sounded like an airplane dropping from the sky followed by a monstrous crash. He pulled himself deeper, and deeper into the corner, his body beginning to convulse in fear, his teeth chattering, thinking, This can’t be happening, can’t be real. He didn’t know how long he’d been there when he heard the front door open and his father’s voice cry out, “Hello? Hello?” and then, “No, no, no. Jesus, God, no!” He slipped out of the closet and slunk to his bedroom doorway, peering tentatively around the corner. Down the hall, in the kitchen, he could see his father cradling his mother in his arms. He was weeping, his head buried in the crook of her neck. Jimmy had never seen his father cry before. “Daddy?” he said. His father looked up at him and Jimmy nearly ran back to the closet. What if he had become like them? But his father said, “Jimmy. Thank God you’re all right,” and Jimmy broke, melting into a torrent of tears. “Daddy, I’m scared.” His father ran down the hall and grabbed him, lifted him into his arms and pressed his head against his chest. “It’s all right, son. But we’ve got to get out of here. If we can make it up the mountain, I know where there’s a resistance camp.” “What’s happening, Daddy?” “There’s too much to explain. But, whatever you do, if you see something weird, creatures, monsters, close your eyes. Just don’t look at them. Do you understand?” Jimmy nodded. “Yes, Daddy.” Jimmy sat curdled on the big bucket seat of his father’s pickup truck, looking out the window in disbelief, as they raced through the dark streets. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Cars overturned, houses on fire. The smoldering, skeletal remains of a crashed helicopter. Roiling, jet-black clouds filled the sky, illuminated with streaks of lighting. His father talked as he downshifted and slammed through the gears, the engine roaring. “Half the town knew this was going to happen. Encouraged it. Worshiped that damn thing. The other half was too ignorant to see what was happening.” From the telephone poles hung body parts: legs, arms, a torso. A decapitated head sat perched atop one, eyes vacant and mouth hanging open as if in surprise. And there was their postman, Mr. Gregory, such a nice guy, always smiling. He was still in his uniform, but it was ripped and tattered, covered in dark stains. He was leading a wild-eyed mob, chasing a pregnant woman across a field. They fell on her and Jimmy shut his eyes and looked away just as Mr. Gregory ripped into her belly with his bare hands, pulled the infant free, and bit into its neck. They spun around the corner of Toth St and onto the main road, and there was a cluster of robed figures, black hoods over their heads, holding torches. His father hit the gas and plowed through them, their cries of “Heathen! Unbeliever!” echoing out as their bodies thumped against the bumper and rolled over the hood. Suddenly, as they sped around a curve, the headlights illuminated a massive redwood tree laying across the road. “Shit,” his father said, “they’ve blocked the road!” He jerked the wheel and slammed on the brakes, Jimmy sliding across the seat and hitting the door as the truck screeched around, shuddering, tires squealing. The rear bumper clipped the tree, and the truck flipped and went careening off the road. Jimmy screamed as they rolled, everything going topsy-turvy, his head slamming into the dash as the truck came shuddering to a stop upside down, the horn blaring. Jimmy dangled from the seat belt, his head throbbing. He was dizzy and the world teetered between flashes of light and darkness. The steering wheel had shattered and impaled his father who was gurgling and choking on blood and chunks of slimy flesh as he struggled to speak. “Just don’t look at it, Jimmy. Whatever you do, don’t look at the monster,” he said before he went limp and still. Then the doors were being opened, and a gang of hooded figures were grabbing him, pulling him from the truck as reality swirled and pulsed, unconsciousness descending, and everything went black. Jimmy stirred and began to awake. He was on the beach, he was sure of it. The scent of the ocean was palpable, but there was something else, a strange stench, something rotten and ancient. There was the sound of distant, crashing waves and strange chanting, and then someone shouting into his ear, “Look upon him, young one. Behold your new lord and master. The new God!” He could feel hands gripping his arms, holding his legs, and he remembered the words his father had said to him: “Just don’t look at it, Jimmy. Whatever you do, don’t look at the monster.” He clenched his eyes shut as the voice urged him on to look, but that strange tingling sense overcame him, and he had to look, had to see. Slowly he opened his eyes, looking downward at first. A bonfire burned before the shoreline, and around it, in the flickering orange light of the fire, Jimmy could make out the silhouettes of writhing bodies moving atop each other. Sex he realized. They were all having sex. It was a huge orgy and as his eyes adjusted Jimmy could see they weren’t all human. No, most of them were strange fish-like creatures, green with white bellies, scaly ridges on their back and huge black eyes. He could clearly see his English teacher—Ms. Constance—on all fours, her breasts dangling down, thrusting herself against one of the creatures who knelt behind her, gripping her hips with his webbed hands, his strange, gill-lined face lifted upwards as he grunted and croaked. Encircling the mass of copulating bodies, were black-cloaked figures, lifting their arms and dropping them in worship, chanting strange words Jimmy didn’t understand. “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgab’nagl fhtagm.” Pink, crustaceous creatures buzzed insect-like through the air on leathery bat wings, snapping their claws open and closed as their scorpion tails swung pendulum-like behind them. And then that strange feeling of premonition overwhelmed him, coming stronger than he’d ever felt it before. A tingling that started in the pit of his belly and spiraled out to the tips of his fingers and toes, and before he even looked out into the ocean, he knew what it was that he would see. It was beyond massive. Extraordinary. Larger than any building or skyscraper he had ever seen. Eclipsing the cliffs around them. Dripping with seaweed and covered in barnacles, its head was like that of an octopus and a swarm of tentacles squirmed from its face. But in its eyes Jimmy saw an uncanny intelligence. For a moment, his mind teetered on the brink of madness at what he saw: his brain trying to comprehend that which is incomprehensible. But a sudden flash of understanding awakened something within him, deeper than any mortal consciousness, more ancient than man itself, and Jimmy knew his destiny had been fulfilled. His skin began to glow with an eerie light, his hair, electrified, standing straight up from his head. “Release me,” he commanded, and the hooded figures holding his arms and legs, demanding that he look upon the ancient god, let him go, and dropped to their knees about him. Lighting rippled through the sky as Jimmy ripped his clothes from his body, and walked out naked onto the beach, his entire being now radiating swirling colors or purple and orange. He sauntered out before the fire and lifted his arms, his voice bellowing out in a volume which shook the very earth. “The ancient ones have awoken! Behold a new era!” And all about him both man and creature dropped to their knees and put their heads to the ground, even the buzzing Mi-go that filled the air swooning to the earth in adulation. And from the heavens he could hear the whisper of Yog-Sothoth, a conglomeration of glowing spheres hovering above earth and moon and sun, both a part of and separate from all existence, say to him, “We’ve been waiting for you, James. Welcome.” Category:Contests Category:Lovecraftian Category:Contest Winner